


What Do You Want to Hear?

by Quandtuniverse



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blanket Permission, Cancer, Death, Existentialism, Gen, Graham O'Brien POV, Medical, Own Voices, Post-Episode: s12e07 Can You Hear Me?, all very cheerful topics as you can clearly see, attempts at angst/comfort, disability own voices, i promise this is meant to be uplifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quandtuniverse/pseuds/Quandtuniverse
Summary: Graham approaches the Doctor again, about their unfinished conversation. She's still no good at saying anything reassuring—but maybe, this time, this is the comfort he needs.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Graham O'Brien
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	What Do You Want to Hear?

**Author's Note:**

> I am a cancer survivor. This is written from my point of view. It's a difficult topic, but I hope you will read it and understand what I mean.
> 
> With thanks to my beta, EdnaV.

"So, Doc, any thoughts yet?"

The Doctor looked up from the console, blinking and flitting her eyes towards Graham in confusion. 

Her mouth hung open for half a second. "I was thinking it's really weird that mantis shrimp have so many cones in their eyes. What do they need to see that many colors for? That's a lot of wavelengths to keep track of, isn't it? Then again, it's also really weird that light is both waves and particles. I mean, I'm not one to judge people for being indecisive, but do they really have to switch it up just ‘cause they're being observed? Then again, if you really think about it, it's more like—" 

Realization dawned upon her.

"....that's not what you meant, is it."

Graham shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"I mean about," he waved his hand in a vague sweeping gesture over his chest. "What I told you."

She looked away, staring distantly into the console, and for a moment Graham thought she was about to evade the question again like she had the previous day, but then she spoke up.

"D'you know what cancer is, Graham?"

At this, Graham had to balk.

"Do _I_ know what cancer is?"

"Sorry. Still awkward I suppose. What I mean is," she paused, "well, every time your cells divide, there's always a chance that it's gonna go wrong. It goes wrong all the time, actually. Every day. And every day you have antibodies fighting to keep all the bad cells in check. Until one day it doesn't work, and that's when you get cancer."

Graham frowned. "...You really are bad at this whole reassurance thing, aren't you."

The Doctor gave him a joyless smile.

"The thing is, Graham, it's not just cancer. It’s all of us. All the time. Things go wrong every day. We come across all sorts of danger, and we survive it, and then we do it again and again…"

She trailed off, her face darkening as if she were debating something internally. Then, it hardened into a resolved determination.

"Until one day, we don't. That's just what it's like to be alive. Nobody can avoid it. Not even me."

Graham shuffled on his feet and cleared his throat.

"So, as far as my fear goes, then...?"

She met his eyes with a strong gaze, one that held him fast, hushing his doubts before he could even voice them. 

"Graham, I can't promise you the future. I can't comfort you and say you'll be fine because the truth is I just don't know." 

She reached out and gripped his shoulders.

"But I can promise you the present. As long as you're with me, I'll keep you safe. And as long as you need someone to share your pain with, I'll be by your side."

A memory crawled up the back of Graham's mind. Not the desperate anguish of his nightmare, but a subdued, faded sorrow. A memory of a sunny afternoon, beams of light streaming through a hospital window—scattered across an IV bag, drip feeding into his arm—silence apart from pigeons cooing outdoors, vague electronic beeping, and the rustling pages of a book, the only company he kept.

She would come in—still his nurse, back then. Grace would always smile as she checked his vitals, her infectious joy flooding the room with warmth. A bright, radiant warmth that swaddled his vulnerable heart and chased away his isolation.

That's where he found himself, then: the center of an inverted black hole, surrounded by a force field others dared not cross. Connections slowly crumbling; close friends awkwardly smiling; acquaintances avoiding the subject. The truth was that if illness took his health, that wasn't the worst part of it: it was how he'd been reduced to a concept, the specter of cancer consuming his personhood.

But never with Grace.

Grace spoke to him lightly, exhuberantly. Grace asked about his life, his childhood, his family, his friends. Grace told him about movies he should watch and books he should read. Grace played music and sneaked him sweets when the doctors weren't looking. 

Grace never saw his cancer. She saw him. She saw someone whose life mattered. Someone whose pain was worth her time. 

Graham emerged from the memory, to see the Doctor still staring intently at him, and it occurred to him that maybe this was her doing, if recent experience with telepathic circuits was anything to go by. 

"Did you just—Doc, did you...?" he stammered, and she blinked at him.

"I haven't done anything," she said, voice tinged with genuine concern. Graham shook his head.

"Nevermind," he said. 

"You were right, though," she said. "I am a Doctor. _The_ Doctor, after all. And if it helps you feel any better, I could always give you a checkup. Tardis' really good at scanning, I scan things all the time, I'm sure we can keep a close eye on you. If you want."

Her hands had never left his shoulders, and now she pulled him in for a hug—not a tight one. One that was just enough.

"That would be perfect," he said. "Thanks, Doc."

He pulled away after a second, this time his eyes fixing on hers.

"We really need to work on your people skills, though."

"Yeah. Yeah, totally," said the Doctor, somehow managing to nod and shake her head at the same time, while pursing her lips. "Still working on that."

"We can work on it together," he smiled, "and for what it's worth, I think you make a great antibody."

"Wow, that is… one of the nicest compliments I've ever gotten." Her gaze wandered off again. "I’m sorry I'm not the best at this. But I'm really grateful to have you on the team."

The simple sincerity of her voice alighted on him, and he recognized in it a touch of Grace. 

"Don't worry yourself too much about it," he said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "You've already given me what I needed."

And he really meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd be writing Graham POV, yet here we are. I dunno if I got him right, but I made an effort.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I would really appreciate your thoughts on this one <3
> 
> Also thanks to Opal and WyvernQuill for help with the Doctor's silly sciency ramble.


End file.
